CHAPTER 179: TWO CRIES AND A TOAST

–Laura–

It’s David’s birthday, and we’re heading to the hotel. After days of mourning—Grandma even threatening to march to jail and "handle" the woman who killed our mother—it finally feels like we can breathe again. I somehow managed to calm Grandma down. Grandpa, on the other hand, looked like he was already plotting Dad’s funeral. I swear, that man’s glare could melt titanium.

But according to Livana, killing isn’t the best revenge. For our father, she said, emotional torture works better. Knowing her, she’ll find a way—quiet, elegant, and absolutely terrifying.

"I look like a balloon," I muttered, studying myself in the mirror. The beige gown hugged every curve, and my belly looked massive. I turned sideways and grimaced.

"That’s because you seduced me nonstop," Damien said casually, giving my butt a gentle smack.

I rolled my eyes. "Excuse me, I was just being affectionate."

He chuckled and stood behind me, his warmth pressing against my back as he kissed the top of my shoulder.

"Did my arms get fatter?" I asked, lifting one for inspection.

"Just a little," he teased, grinning as his fingers traced over my bump. "But overall—you’re stunning." His voice softened. "Absolutely stunning."

"Alright," I said, trying not to blush, "we need to get this party going. We can’t miss your favorite cousin’s birthday."

Damien snorted. "David’s my third favorite cousin. Damon’s first, but he’s been demoted to second. Alyssa took the top spot."

"Oh, I see," I said, pretending to look deeply offended. "So, what if I suddenly feel like making love?"

He cleared his throat instantly, pretending not to hear me as he picked up my purse and tote bag. "We should get going. Careful, okay? You’re due anytime this month."

"Oh, don’t worry." I grinned, grabbing his hand. "There’s no way I’ll give birth on David’s birthday. I mean, he’s great and all, but I don’t want my babies turning out like him."

He laughed as we walked out of the bedroom. "They won’t be like David."

"Babe," I said, raising a brow, "there’s this thing called zodiacs and star alignments. There’s a possibility!"

"You’re reading way too much into that."

At the stairs, I held onto the railing, moving carefully one step at a time. My belly made everything feel like a slow-motion movie. Damien stayed a step below, ready to catch me if I even wobbled.

"Oh dear, you look gorgeous," Grandpa Reagan said as soon as I reached the last few steps.

"Thank you, Grandpa. Even though I look like a balloon."

"Nonsense!" Grandma Olivia beamed up at me. "You’re a radiant pregnant lady."

"Thank you, Grandma. Pops." I smiled, feeling the twins kick in response to their voices. Maybe they liked the attention.

When we arrived at the hotel, David was in the foyer, chatting animatedly with Livana and Damon, who had just arrived.

"Sis!" I squealed. She looked breathtaking—curvy in all the right places, wrapped in a violet gown that shimmered like dusk. Damon, being the gentleman he pretends not to be, draped his coat over her shoulders when he noticed the stares.

"Laura?" Livana tilted her head slightly, still acting blind behind her sunglasses. I moved in for a hug, but our bellies collided mid-embrace. We both laughed.

"Wow, adorable," I said, hearing Damien’s phone click. "Send me that photo!"

"Can you take one of the three of us?" David chimed in, removing Livana’s glasses before kneeling between us. He made us press our bellies to his cheeks like some weirdo baby magnet.

We took several shots—some elegant, most silly. But since Livana had no idea what silly poses even meant, David took full creative control. He made her place a graceful hand over his head while he pulled a ridiculous face, looking like a mischievous prince under his queen’s command.

But what made me laugh even more was when Damien pretended to catch my huge belly like it was about to fall off—our twins included. He even grunted dramatically for effect. That’s when I noticed Damon standing nearby, already bossing the photographers around like some perfectionist fashion editor. Oh, so that’s why Damien was suddenly posing with us—he’d been dragged into Damon’s creative vision. Even Grandpa and Grandma were laughing, and for the first time in days, the house of Braxton finally felt light again.

Livana and I held hands as we entered the main ballroom. There was a corner sofa reserved for us—of course. Livana sat gracefully, all poise and mystery, while I plopped across from her with a dramatic sigh. Our grandparents mingled, while the Carringtons? Nope, not invited.

I couldn’t help but sip the fruit punch Damien handed me while David worked the crowd like a peacock in a tux. Alyssa, glowing in carnation pink, joined us with hugs and giggles.

The atmosphere buzzed with business talk, laughter, and expensive perfume. Livana sat like an unbothered goddess, her bodyguards discreetly stationed nearby. Damon and Damien were at the buffet, pretending to "taste test" everything. A live chef flambéed something that made the air smell sweet and smoky.

I was starting to get bored, so I joined Alyssa and Livana. Alyssa knelt on the carpet, pressing her ear to my belly.

"Wow," she whispered. "The twins are fighting. I can feel it!"

"Yep, they’ve been doing that all week." I winked, though a strange tightening made me shift in my seat.

"Are you having contractions?" Livana asked, voice calm but sharp.

"I don’t even know what contractions feel like."

Her head tilted slightly. "Hospital. Now."

Everything happened fast. Alyssa helped me up. Damien appeared, eyes wide with worry.

"What’s going on?" he asked.

Livana didn’t answer—she didn’t need to. One of her bodyguards signaled, and suddenly, I was surrounded.

"Hospital," she murmured again.

Damien’s jaw tightened. "Is it happening?"

"I think we jinxed it," I said, wincing. "They’re coming on David’s birthday."

"Oh no," he muttered, half-laughing, half-panicking.

David spotted us and rushed over. After a quick explanation, he gasped dramatically, then waved us off like some overexcited host. We left discreetly, escorted by Livana’s guards.

At the hospital, Dr. Green—my OB—was already waiting. She checked me multiple times, muttering things I didn’t fully understand.

"Yup, I feel it," I said, pacing in my hospital gown. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender soap.

"Don’t pee," Dr. Green ordered. "No matter what, don’t pee."

"Got it," I said, gripping Damien’s arm as another wave hit me.

"Ow!"

"Breathe in, breathe out!" Damien shouted, doing exaggerated breathing exercises beside me.

"I am breathing!" I yelled back, half-laughing, half-crying.

It’s official—I’m giving birth on David’s birthday. The twins clearly didn’t care about my plans for cosmic alignment.

–Livana–

I sat down calmly, letting the soft hum of music and clinking glasses fade into the background. The food my husband brought was beautifully plated by the chefs, but it felt more like he was feeding me than letting me dine. Every bite he served carried the quiet weight of his care.

"So, did Laura give birth?" he asked, his voice steady yet curious.

"Not yet," I replied, taking another small bite and savoring the warmth on my tongue. "But we can follow them in thirty minutes." The dish was exquisite, yet I hummed thoughtfully—it lacked the distinct flavor of Damon’s cooking. The chefs cooked for taste; my husband cooked with soul.

"Are you not satisfied?" he asked, his tone half teasing.

"I’m spoiled," I admitted softly, smiling as I dabbed the corner of my lips with a napkin. "I like it when you cook for me and surprise me."

"Oh?" His chuckle rumbled low, a sound both rich and dangerous—like velvet laced with smoke.

"Let’s go to the hospital," I murmured, setting my utensils down with quiet finality. We hadn’t told the grandparents about Laura and Damien’s departure earlier—it was better this way: discreet, silent, and safe.

Just as we stood, David appeared, grinning ear to ear, his energy almost bouncing off the marble floor.

"I can’t wait for the twins to share the same birthday as me," he whispered eagerly.

I smiled faintly. "You’re assuming they want that."

He laughed, unbothered, and I couldn’t help but think—David’s joy was contagious, his optimism radiant. Perhaps fate was merely indulging him tonight. After all, he was kind, responsible, and oddly charming. If the twins must share a birthday, it might as well be with someone like him.

He came along with us to the parking lot, his laughter echoing softly under the ceiling lights. The air outside was crisp, heavy with the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen.

By the time we arrived at the hospital, the corridors smelled faintly of antiseptic and something sweeter—perhaps flowers from the waiting area. We waited quietly outside the delivery room when a piercing yet tender sound filled the hallway: the first cries of life.

I turned to Damon. His usually composed face flickered with awe, a rare emotion softening his eyes.

"Call your brother, David," I said gently.

He blinked. "Shouldn’t we tell the grandparents first?"

"Call him," I repeated with a knowing smile.

He understood immediately. He dialed, put the phone on speaker, and David’s voice came through.

"Hey, what’s up? Is it a flawless success?"

"You’re an uncle," Damon said.

A beat of silence—and then came David’s jubilant shout.

"Yes! Yes! Best gift ever!"

I could already imagine him running through the hotel, hugging our grandparents, babbling excitedly about "the best gift ever." They’d probably think he’d been given a yacht, not two new souls bound to our family’s name. But in truth, this joy was priceless. His laughter filled even the quiet corners of my mind.

Damon and I stepped back to the sofa, where the soft fabric kissed against my gown. Soon after, the nurses came out carrying the twins, their cries smaller now, their tiny hands wrapped snugly in white. The security detail moved subtly—men in suits blending with the hospital’s serenity.

Moments later, Damien appeared, looking exhausted but alive with pride.

"No hugs," Damon reminded him quietly. "Just follow the twins."

We could not risk mistakes—not now, not ever.

"Damon," I called softly.

"Hmm?"

"I’ll step out for a bit. Stay with Laura."

He turned to me, confused. "What? Why?"

I stood, feeling the faint sway of my heels against the cold floor. One of my bodyguards immediately reached for my hand, guiding it to his forearm. My fingers brushed against the fine fabric of his suit as he led me down the corridor.

We entered the nursery—a glass-walled sanctuary filled with the scent of powder and milk. The twins were being dressed carefully, their tiny chests rising with fragile breaths. The pediatrician moved with practiced grace, murmuring instructions to the nurses.

But then I noticed her—one nurse with her back turned. Something in her posture tugged at my memory. A familiarity that slithered beneath my skin.

I stayed silent, cautious. The air thickened. I couldn’t afford to be wrong, not now.

I lifted my chin slightly, my voice calm but edged with authority. "Keep your eyes on the heirs," I murmured to my guard.

Because if my instincts were right, danger wasn’t gone—it had simply changed its disguise.